


What Do the Lonely Do (at Christmas)

by thankyouturtle



Category: Batgirl (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:29:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thankyouturtle/pseuds/thankyouturtle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bank robberies, gratuitous carol references, stabbings, and maybe even a miracle (or two)? Must be Christmastime in Gotham.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do the Lonely Do (at Christmas)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amathela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/gifts).



It hadn't escaped Steph's notice that, for the second major holiday in a row, _she_ was the one who was stuck on duty. Sure, the others had assured her that it was just the luck of the draw, and Christmas wasn’t exactly her favorite time of year, but... well, she'd noticed, OK? She'd been all noticey about it. Noticing had happened.

_God_ , she was bored.

It was quiet for Christmas Eve. Probably the cold had driven most people inside. The most interesting thing she'd seen all night was two groups of bank robbers dressed as Santa Clauses arriving at the same bank at the same time, neither expecting the other to be there. The fact that the bank wasn't _open_ hadn't seemed to bother them nearly as much as one another's presence, and Steph had had to make creative use of a fire extinguisher to make a distraction that actually got their attention. She'd also completely missed the opportunity to make a winter wonderland reference as the foam was flying. It was that kind of night.

Still, just sitting around wasn’t getting anything done. Steph reluctantly left her position beside a wonderfully warm air vent and took off, eyes pinned to the streets below as she jumped across the rooftops. The brittle cold on the exposed parts of her face took the edge off all the fun. "Why aren't I wearing a proper balaclava?" she grumbled out loud. “Because I thought it would get in the way of my sass. Of course, I thought I'd actually _have_ someone to sass-ah!" As she tried to make a decent landing on an upper storey balcony her sneakers hit a patch of ice and she slid from the balustrade she’d been aiming for. She thrust out her arms as she felt herself fall and managed to catch hold of it, pulling herself in and probably bruising her chest against the hard railing in the process. Her feet scrabbled in the air, trying to find something to purchase on; there was nothing there. Was she strong enough to pull herself up? Maybe, if she could find the right grip, but her fingers were cold – freezing, really – inside her cheap woollen gloves, and she knew it was going to be hard going.

“I am _not_ going to die on Christmas Eve,” she announced to the streets below her. “Hans Christian Andersen is _not_ getting the satisfaction.”

“You’re not much like my idea of the Little Matchgirl.”

It was a good thing Steph was holding on so tightly. She couldn’t see the speaker, but she recognised that warm, mid-range male voice, and its owner was about the last person she’d wanted to bump into tonight. “S’long as I’m not the Ugly Duckling-” she began, stopping as she felt her waist gripped by two strong hands. She let go of the railing as she was lifted up and over, her rescuer letting her go in such a hurry that she landed in a heap.

She unfurled herself in an instant and was back in a crouching stance, her hand going to the knife at her belt. It was gone, and the man standing before her was spinning it between the fingers of his left hand. She sighed, and stood.

"Thanks for saving my life," she said. " _Again_." The man shrugged, causing his skin-tight blue and black costume to ripple in interesting ways. As usual, his intricate domino mask almost entirely obscured his expression, but Steph thought - hoped - he didn't look displeased to see her.

Or maybe he was simply unsurprised.

"I think it was my turn. When did you start using a knife?"

"You're still ahead by three," Steph said, answering the first part of his speech and ignoring the second. "So you lucked out and got the Christmas shift too, huh?"

"Not exactly." He seemed to come to some sort of decision, and held out the knife to her, handle-first. A little warily, she stepped forward and took it. "Why do you? The central gangs still had their Christmas truce in place, last I heard."

"It doesn’t start ‘til midnight," she reminded him. "I'm not out looking for trouble - honestly."

“Then how many of those Santas had their pockets picked during the brawl?” Nightwing wanted to know. "No, actually, don't tell me. I don't want to have to arrest you tonight." His voice was gently teasing, but Steph ducked her head, busying herself tucking the knife away so that she didn't have to meet his eyes. When she glanced up again he was holding a flask out to her. "Here. It's hot spiced cider. It'll warm you up." She took the flask without argument and had a large gulp.

"It's good," she said, surprised. "It's tastes very - you know. Festive. Merry."

"'Tis the season," Nightwing replied, his mouth lapsing into a smile. "I'm glad to see you, Steph. I was worried when the McCormicks reported you as a runaway." Steph felt heat rising in her cheeks, and it wasn't from the medicinal qualities of the seriously ridiculous delicious hot cider, either. Hope and embarrassment had a brief struggle for supremacy, and embarrassment won.

"It didn't work out," she managed. Understatement of the year. "I'm still going to school, like I promised. I'm just better off where I am right now." Not _exactly_ a lie. She certainly wasn’t _worse_ off with the Redbirds, and they at least didn’t ask questions she didn’t want to answer.

"You’re better off facing death from exposure on an icy rooftop for a gang that doesn't care about you?"

Awesome, apparently he'd developed the ability to channel her own inner voice since the last time she saw him. "If you're here to make me go back..." She held the flask out to him; he waved it off. She hesitated, then slipped it into her backpack.

“Believe it or not, I'm not exactly out here looking for trouble either. Although trouble never seems to be far away from you. ”

“Then what are you looking for?” _Me?_ she wondered, but there were some thoughts that even Steph wasn’t willing to voice out loud.

“Meeting you was just a delightful coincidence,” Nightwing told her, as if he hadn’t watched her steal half a dozen wallets and then trailed her to see what she was doing. “I’m actually on my way to recover stolen goods. _A_ stolen good, anyway. Starr Enterprises had a break in last night, and lost an important piece of technology – lightweight material that works as a cloaking device. If it falls into the wrong hands-”

“They invented an Invisibility Cloak?” Steph interrupted as her brain caught up with her ears. “Oh my God. That’s-” she was going to say _cool_ , but a shiver ran down her back that had nothing to do with the cold. “It _can’t_ fall into the wrong hands. Do you know where it is? Let me come with you – something like that, there’s going to be a lot of people guarding it. You’ll need help.”

If he was surprised by her sudden excitement, he didn’t say anything. “I wouldn’t mind a little backup,” he said. “You’d better wear this, though.” This time he held out something small and soft, and Steph realised it was a balaclava. It appeared to have been hand-knitted by someone with a sense of humor, at least assuming that the black and blue pattern was _meant_ to show a large bat on top of a Christmas tree.

“To hide my identity or keep me warm?” she asked as she tugged off her beanie, and Nightwing laughed, a small sound that was nevertheless as warming as the cider.

“The first – though the weather outside _is_ frightful,” he said, and Steph grinned even as she groaned loudly. His good moods were always infectious - and she was going to _have_ to make some Christmas related quips. It wasn’t right, letting him have all the fun.

“You better lead the way,” she managed, after a moment’s hesitation, “and I’ll mark your footsteps.”

He took off without another word, and for a moment she thought he’d missed it; but then she caught the faint sound of him humming _Good King Wenceslas_ and knew that he hadn’t.

They hadn’t far to go. Nightwing stopped above Old Guildhall Avenue, where the buildings were a mixture of midlevel apartment blocks and commercial offices built over restaurants. Even up here the smell of meat and spices was strong, and Steph’s stomach rumbled, loudly. “If you say anything about figgy pudding-” she began. Nightwing shook his head at her.

“We’re here,” he said. “Look down at the street.”

She didn’t think there’d been people below when they arrived, but there were now. Three men, each with their backs to the building, facing the road. She squinted, trying to work out if their bulging clothes were keeping them warm – or hiding weapons. None of them glanced up, and that, Steph thought, meant they were new in town. All of Gotham’s crims knew to keep an eye on the rooftops. Who were they waiting for, so intently? _Everybody’s waiting for the man with the bag…_

“They’re moving it tonight,” Nightwing explained, answering her unasked question. “We have just under twenty minutes to retrieve it; it should take less than that. And I _should_ be able to get in and out without any problems, but I need you to watch my back.”

“What do I need to do?”

Not a lot, as it turned out. She and Nightwing got into the building through an air vent that had been widened for repair work, and then she was left to stand guard at the end of a corridor as he disappeared up it. At first, in the silence, she did her best to keep her eyes on the stairwell, the closed doors, the wide window behind her; but as the sounds of crashes and faint grunts reached her, her attention was drawn away as she wondered distractedly whether Nightwing was the one causing the noises – or the one making them.

A slight movement in the shadows in front of her caught her eye and she half-turned, belatedly realising that someone had crept up behind her. It was enough of a movement that the punch that had been aimed at the back of her head caught her on the side instead, knocking her off balance but not knocking her out. The small amount of training she’d had kicked in, and she used to momentum of the fall to roll and crouch, shifting into a defensive stance, low and wary, her knife in her hand. The man who’d hit her was tall, and muscular, and didn’t seem to be carrying a gun.

“You working for the Bat?” he growled. His eyes were locked on the knife.

“Not me. I’m one of Santa’s little helpers,” Steph said breezily, the words somewhat muffled by her makeshift mask. “He sent me to find out if you’re naughty or-”

He lunged forward, intent on wresting the knife from her grasp, but Steph had been expecting that, and turned into his lunge, planting her elbow firmly into his stomach. He staggered back, gasping. Steph grinned, pleased to have successfully winded him. “Nice,” she finished, and aimed a kick directly at his groin. To her surprise, he caught her foot before it could make contact.

“Bitch,” he wheezed. “I’ll show you-” He pulled her forward, but he’d forgotten about the knife. She aimed for his shoulder, missing his collarbone and sinking it with difficulty into where she thought the muscle must be. He swore, and let her go; Steph let go of the knife and backed away, suddenly nauseous. She didn’t dare look down at her hand, which might be dripping blood. The man sank down to his knees, grasping ineffectually at the knife.

Steph found that she was shaking, and when a hand came down on her own shoulder she yelped. Nightwing was there, suddenly – too suddenly – beside her. “He – is he dying?” Steph’s voice came out shakier than usual. He gave her arm a squeeze, then approached the man, by now collapsed onto his stomach.

“He’ll be fine, with a few stitches,” Nightwing told her after a moment’s inspection. “Good thing you’re wearing gloves – it’s better that I leave the knife in there.”

Steph nodded, numbly, and Nightwing had to tug her arm to get her to move. Once they were on the roof, the cold air seemed to help, and before long they were several blocks away, resting above a doughnut shop. “You did find it, didn’t you?” she asked, removing the balaclava as she spoke. It was warm, but it was _itchy_.

“I did. And I’ll see it gets back to Starr –” he paused, “- soon. There was something I wanted to show you, first.”

Asking him where they were going got no response out of him beyond “To a sleigh full of toys, and St Nicholas too”, so after a little while she gave up. When he stopped again, it was three or four blocks back from the city square, where a ginormous and completely garish Christmas tree was dominating all other seasonal decorations.

“ _Not_ that,” Nightwing said, seeing Stephanie was staring with a raised eyebrow. “Below us. There, read this.”

He _had_ come looking for her tonight, she realised as she skimmed through the newspaper article. It was all about a new initiative to help the street kids of Gotham; financed by the Wayne Foundation, it sought to give them a place to live, in small, individual apartments, with a budget for food and other bills, until they had the means to live independently. There was more to it than that, of course, but Steph’s eyes slid off the page before she’d bothered to read the list of promises the chosen few had to make.

“Only six to start with,” Nightwing said, his voice soft. “But there’s a place for you, if you want it. You’ll be able to finish school – and the Wayne Foundation also offers some university scholarships. You may be able to win one, if you’re interested.”

Steph stared at him. It sounded amazing. It sounded too good to be true. “How-” she tried.

“I have connections in high places,” Nightwing said teasingly. “I figured you wouldn’t want to try fostering again, after what happened.”

Did he know? About Dean turning up, and the McCormicks going all biblical on her when they found out about the baby? “Why?” she asked. “Why do this for me, I mean? There must be other kids out there that need it.”

“No one quite like you,” Nightwing said, and _dammit_ , it should be illegal to be that nice as well as that attractive. “Think of it as a Christmas present, if you like.”

“All I _want_ for Christmas, is-” Steph stopped as she realised that she was saying exactly what she’d spent most of the night trying not to say. She was just flustered enough not to move as Nightwing turned his body towards hers, rested a hand gently on her hip, moved his head forward, and pressed his lips lightly against hers.

“You,” he finished. 

“I might have been going to say my two front teeth.” The words came out a little more breathlessly than usual.

“You really don’t need to do the apartment scheme if you don’t want to, Steph. I just want you to be happy – and safe –”

This time she kissed him, reaching up onto her tiptoes to do it. “I don’t know,” she said, when he broke the kiss. “It’s a lot to take in – all of this – and I can’t even think of another Christmas pun.”

“‘Thank God it’s Christmas,’” Nightwing offered.

“‘I wish it could be Christmas every day,’” Steph replied, and then they were both too preoccupied to say anything else for some time.


End file.
